Things that Matter

It Doesn’t Matter

When I was twelve, I first became aware that there were two basic categories of things in life.  Things that matter, and things that don’t.

My mother had just died – committing suicide by putting a hose into the tailpipe of the car in our garage.  I instinctively knew that was something that mattered.



When I was twelve, my aunt took me to New York. I’d grown up in Indiana, on a small farm, and she decided I needed to see something about the rest of the world.

She and I had been talking for a long time about other things – the things she wanted me to learn, and see, and that she thought might matter to me.  I was always absorbed in books – even at 12 I couldn’t get enough of them.  Mimi fed them to me, like food to a someone starving, and I sucked them down.


That trip, to New York.

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